120 days...

by Stratton, M.

  They spent the day with the guests, eating, singing carols and opening presents. He couldn’t deny the fact that it felt good to be around the staff and guests again. Sitting there with Jennie on his knee, he looked around and knew she was going to have a very special upbringing, surrounded by so much love.

  He also knew it was time for them to join the living again. It was what Sam would have demanded he do, and it was what Jennie needed.

  April 8th

  Ethan held his daughter’s hand as they walked slowly together through the Legacy Garden. Jennie may have been born fifty-nine days early, but she was ahead of all the other children her age. Already Jennie knew where to stop. Looking up at her daddy, she smiled and placed her hand over her mother’s handprint.

  “That’s right, honey. That’s your mama’s handprint.” Ethan leaned down and placed his hand over hers, making sure she knew he was there for her. “I know she’s wishing you a happy birthday right now. Oh, see?” He pointed to the butterfly that had just landed on the rose bush, which had one of its branches coming over the wall. “There she is. She came to wish it to you personally.”

  “Ohhh . . .” Jennie’s little voice rang out.

  “Come on, let’s say hello to Uncle Evan while we’re here.” They walked further down and did the same thing there.

  “Ethan?”

  “Over here, Bethany.” He picked Jennie up, set her on his hip and walked over toward his office assistant.

  “Mr. Simpson is fading.”

  “Thanks, I’ll head on over. Jennie, should we go say good-bye to Mr. Richard Simpson? I think he’s done an amazing job not letting the lung cancer get him down. He made it one hundred and seventy-three days. I’ll have to check my figures, but I think the average number of days someone stays here is going up. Your mommy would be proud of us.”

  Ethan hugged his daughter and looked back over his shoulder to the butterflies dancing in the garden. He knew both of them were thought of by those who had died at the resort. The butterflies always seemed to follow his Jennie around. Everyone who had come before, everyone who was there, and everyone who would be coming, were all connected. All of their stories mattered and the butterflies were a reminder that each one was important.

  It felt very strange to be writing about my parents as if they were dead in this book, but I knew I had to get past it. It was their story, their strength and attitude that gave me the idea for 120 days. They needed to be in it. They are the only people, ‘guests,’ in the book who are still alive. The others were borrowed from family and friends who have lost loved ones to terminal diseases.

  These are the real stories behind the guests at Last Resort.

  Bonnie and Bill Wivell, my parents

  Written by M. Stratton

  I think I’ll remember that day forever. My husband and I were supposed to go out on a date for that night so my mom was going to come over to watch our son. They live about forty-five minutes away, so this isn’t a quick trip. We were sitting on the loveseat when she told me, “Dad has cancer.” The next few minutes were a blur, I know I cried, I know she cried and I was in shock. But in the back of my mind, I knew something was wrong. I had just told my husband the month before that he didn’t look well, but since he was getting older, I played it off as that. It wasn’t.

  From the very beginning my dad said he was going to beat this, that he didn’t care what it took, he wasn’t going to be ashes in an urn. The odds of him making it to five years were slim. He went in for radiation and chemo treatments. They were aggressive in their treatment hoping to shrink the tumors before going in for surgery.

  He went in and had the surgery, the next day he looked wonderful. If you didn’t know better, you would have never thought he had such a major surgery. They sent him home, but things got worse. He had an infection that was so bad, he couldn’t move. He went by ambulance to the hospital, where they pumped him full of antibiotics. At this point, it wasn’t looking good. My mom and I were really worried we were going to lose him.

  I didn’t find out until much later but my dad says he saw God at this point, and he told him to go away; he wasn’t ready to die. He said, “You finally give me a grandson to now take me away from him? No, I’m not going.” And he didn’t. He fought back and went home. About a month later, he had another infection. This time they were going to open him back up and see what was going on. What no one knew was he was allegoric to the sutures they used. They put different ones in and he healed.

  After that he was on chemo maintenance and getting his rhythm back. He was going in for routine scans when they found a growth on his lung. It was back in for surgery to remove the cancer that had metastasized there. Once again he showed remarkable strength in dealing with all the pain and uncertainty.

  Through all of this, my dad went to work. Of course, while he was in the hospital he couldn’t, but if he could get out of bed, he went to work. His attitude was so remarkable throughout all of the treatments and surgeries, we knew that was the reason he was doing so well.

  Then he was in Vegas for a seminar, and had a heart attack. I was at work when I received the call from my mom. I wanted to get up there, to be there for them, but they wouldn’t let me. He had a couple of stents put in and my aunt and uncle came over from California to drive them home since he couldn’t fly.

  We dodged another bullet.

  I should have known better. I remember sitting there at my parents’ a year or so later thinking how well Dad was doing. It was almost like everything was normal for us. He had learned to deal with the side effects of the chemo maintenance and everything was good. It had been four years since he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Then my husband woke me up in the middle of the night. I hadn’t heard the phone ring. My mom had a heart attack. I couldn’t breathe. It was hard, but my husband went down to be with my dad. There was no way I could drive. It wouldn’t be safe, and someone had to stay with our son.

  I waited, and waited and finally heard that she was going to be okay. They had put a few stints in her heart. By now it was time to get our son up and get him ready for his day. I did that and went straight to the hospital. My mom was pretty loopy from the drugs they had given her, and later I realized it was because she was scared. When they took the chest x-ray, they found a growth on both of her lungs, quite large. Of course she down played it at the time.

  Because of the size of the tumors and the fact they were in both lungs, she wasn’t a candidate for radiation or surgery, which only left chemo. Her doctor, the same one who has done such a wonderful job with my dad, said, if the chemo worked she’d have a year, if it didn’t months.

  We had firsthand knowledge of what the right attitude could do, and that’s what my mom did. We tried so hard with my dad, never to cry in front of him, and if we did cry, it was only briefly. We weren’t going to add any kind of negative thoughts to the situation, even if he never saw us doing that. We did the same thing with my mom, although it has been harder because we both can cry easily.

  At one point, my mom told my son, ‘Whenever you see a rainbow or a butterfly, that’s me thinking of you.” Which is why I have butterflies as a theme in the book.

  My dad, my husband, and my son all got buzz cuts when my mom lost her hair. I stood there trying not to cry as each one of them sat in the chair for me and I used the clippers to take their hair down to very short, even my mom’s. Her hair had started falling out, and her scalp was hurting. We hoped that by taking what was left off would help, and it did.

  The chemo shrank the tumors, but she could only be on it for so long, and they didn’t go away. Then they put her on chemo maintenance and she had what they called, an allegoric reaction to the drugs. She was laid up for about two months while they figured out what was wrong. Again, like my father, if she could get up out of bed, she went into work. At that point, all parties decided this was no way to live and she stopped the treatments.

  I’m publishing this book on August 29th, 2015, my dad’s birthda
y, and it has been six years since he was diagnosed. He is doing everything he can to kick cancer’s ass. I picked Jennie’s birthday as April 8th, which is my mom’s birthday. As of the publication of this book, she is at two and a half years since her initial diagnosis, and says she could live another twenty years feeling as good as she does now.

  For a lot of years, it was only me and my mom, then she met Bill and they started to date, and then they married when I was fifteen. As an emotional, bratty teenager, I know I didn’t make things easy on either of them. But they’ve been there for me, and it took me awhile, but I finally started calling Bill, Dad, because he was. He’s been there for me for so many years. We joke around all the time about my son, he looks like my mom, but his personality is a lot like my dad’s. He might not be his, biologically, but in all the ways that matter, he is his grandfather and my daddy.

  We are all firm believers with the right attitude and prayer, you can still have a good life, even after being diagnosed with a terminal disease. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, or there won’t be pain and tears, but it means you are still you. You can still do many of the things you always did before, or even find new ones. You fight for as long as you can, and as hard as you can, until there is nothing left, and then you fight some more.

  Everything can change in a moment. Live hard. Laugh hard. Love harder.

  Sometimes people come into your life and you don’t know why they have, all you know is your life is fuller because of them. I have to say Erika is one of those ladies for me. I received a message from her that she was going to the North Shore Author Signing held in Boston in April of 2015 and she always picks a book from each of the authors to read before the signing. My debut novel, ‘After the Storm’ was her first choice to read. She loved it. We started talking and one thing led to another, and now I am lucky enough to call her my friend. She is truly a wonderful, loving and caring woman.

  I loved meeting her at the signing, and dancing with her to her favorite signer, Rick Springfield’s “Jessie’s Girl.” I knew her mother had died when she was young, but I didn’t know of how until after I started talking to her about ’120 days’ . . . The idea to include real people’s stories in mine, as a tribute, came directly from Erika, and she doesn’t even know it. I wanted to do something special. Cancer touches so many lives, and we all have stories. Here I can take some pages and include a few of them here. I’m pretty sure her mom and my mom would have been great friends too.—M. Stratton

  Patricia (Patty)

  Written by: Erika Gutermuth

  My name is Erika, and I am here to tell you that I was raised by the most amazing mother in the world. My Mom, Patricia, was unable to have children of her own, so she and my Father adopted me when I was a 2 month old infant. My mom always told me I was her greatest gift. My parents got divorced when I was 2, and it was my mom who raised me on her own. I grew up in a suburb of Boston and loved my life! I remained an only child, besides our dog, Chaney. My mom and I were as close as a Mother and daughter could be. Every Saturday morning we would get up and clean the house to Barry Manilow and Olivia Newton-John albums. Music was HUGE for her! One of her favorite Women’s Lib artists was Helen Reddy. On the same album that declared to the world “I Am Woman” was another gem of a song called “You and Me Against The World” sung by Helen to her son Jeffrey. My mom forever told me that was our song and exactly how she felt about us.

  My mom and I got to my teenage years! We laughed hard, fought hard, and made up like best friends do. We would watch Love Boat marathons while eating take out from our favorite local Chinese restaurant, The Makaha, regularly. My mom took me on vacations to Disney World, Maine, and St. Thomas. My mom always encouraged my singing in the choir at high school, and was at every performance with a boom box to record me. I loved the nights we stayed up late talking about her days as an American Airlines Stewardess, a Dental Assistant, and her current life as an entrepreneur, as she had recently started a small but successful cleaning company. I think I am most grateful for the fact that my mom was the epitome of a bookworm, and from a very young age, instilled that love of reading in me. My mom was my best friend, sister, and the love of my life.

  I was 17 and a senior in high school when my life got turned upside down. Starting in the fall my mom started acting very strange. She was quick to yell and even threw me out of the house for no known reason (I was back home within a week). For most of my senior year she had been complaining that her stomach was really hurting her. She went to doctor who said she was just imagining the pain, which it was all in her head! Low and behold, two days after Christmas in 1987, my mom’s best friend had enough and brought her to the emergency room. What they found after X-rays and MRI’s was definitely cancer, and not just a tumor. It was a huge mass in the wall of her stomach. Even the oncologists knew my mom’s case was too far gone to even suggest remission or recovery. My Aunt Barb (my mom’s sister) and Uncle Sten (Aunt Barb’s husband), came down from Vermont to help 17 year old me navigate this awful situation. The head oncologist told us that my beloved mother had 4–6 weeks to live. We were all stunned! My Uncle had a thriving dental practice in Vermont, and not only could he not spare the time to stay with me in MA, he had many connections at a well-respected hospital in VT, so we had my mom transferred, even though her current doctors thought that would be a bad idea.

  The five of us drove up in a minivan, and once settled, my mom had a wonderful team of doctors working with her round the clock. She received Chemo and radiation treatments, and every time I went to visit her, her hospital room was filled with lots of family and friends, since she grew up in Vermont. My mom struggled and was confused much of the time, but in a moment of clarity she confessed to me that she knew was going to die, and I was speechless. I should have held her, but I was a kid and didn’t know what to do. I told her I had to go, I loved her and would see her later.

  A few weeks went by, and I took the Vermont Transit bus back and forth from Massachusetts to Vermont several times, as I was trying to finish high school, though it was hard to stay focused. My mom suffered through seizures and dementia. We had one more Valentine’s Day together and I remember bringing her a card and noticing oxygen tank between her legs on the hospital bed. My mom proudly displayed my senior picture in her hospital room and always kicked everyone out when I came to be with her because she wanted to be alone with me.

  About 5 weeks after her diagnosis my mom slipped into a coma. 2 days into a coma she squeezed my hand. That was last sign of life I ever felt from her. She was in ICU on a respirator and many other machines and would not let go. A social worker on the floor approached my Aunt Barb and asked “Is there anything that Pat could be holding on for?” and my Aunt said “Erika’s birthday is in 9 days.” That was it. These two sad and brave women came to me and told me that I had to go in and talk to her. To let her know I was okay with her letting go.

  I went to her room and cleared out the crowd. I took her hand. I told her how much I loved her and hated seeing her in so much pain and that she didn’t have to fight anymore. I told her it was okay to let go. I told her she was my everything, and then I sang the chorus of our song: “And when one of us is gone, and one of us is left to carry on, then remembering will have to do, our memories alone will get us through, think about the days of me and you, you and me against the world . . .” I kissed her and told her I loved her one last time, walked out of the hospital and boarded the bus home that afternoon. I got a call from my Uncle the very next night that she was gone.

  I was heartbroken, and in many ways still am. I am happily married and surrounded by incredible people, but my mom/is was my world. My husband once heard a cassette tape of me and my mom goofing around and he couldn’t believe it was me, I sounded so incredibly happy! He said it was at that moment that he realized that the day she died, my sunshine had been taken away . . . At times that is true. My wedding day, Holidays, her birthday, anniversary and especially Mother’s Day are terribly hard f
or me, but I go on. My mom was 44 when she died, and the first oncologist was right. It was exactly 6 weeks from diagnosis to death. I have already outlived her by a year, and have lived over half of my life without her, but you know what? Patricia and I were meant to be! I may have had her for only 17 years, but I wouldn’t trade a single moment!! Our time together was short, precious and perfect, and I will be forever grateful.

  Since losing my mom, I have lost my grandfather to lung cancer, my Aunt Barb, her sister, to thyroid cancer, and my Uncle Sten is currently battling brain cancer. Cancer is evil and scary and a cure for all cancers needs to be discovered and celebrated NOW! For anyone who has been on a journey like mine or can relate to me, I feel you and I thank you. And just so you know, along with carrying my mom in my heart, I always feel her near me. It is nice to know that I have a personal guardian angel constantly watching over me. Thanks for tht Mom, I love you.

  Kris, wow, this was a hard one. With the exception of being a Packers fan, he was an extremely kind man. I met him in 2007 after my husband and I had eloped and his quiet strength always amazed me. As did the fact he hated to go up against me in Fantasy Football, but loved to give me a hard time about my team, the Chicago Bears. This is for you Kris, Go Pack Go!—M. Stratton

  Kristopher James Lesky

  Written by: Michael Stratton

  Kris Lesky was born on March 14th, 1967 in Hurley Wisconsin. He grew up there and attended South Side Elementary School, and J.E. Murphy High School, Both in Hurley Wisconsin. Kris Loved Wisconsin was a huge Life Long Badger and Green Bay Packer fan.